Birth By Sleep: The Journal
by Fireofearth
Summary: Mark has always hidden a thick journal in a cabinet of his in the room. As he dies, his daughter finally reads what is inside; his life story.


The man on his deathbed, old and grizzled with age as his gaze connecting with the people in front of him; his daughter, her husband, and his granddaughter. With a shaking hand, he pointed towards the door, coughing as he did so.

"Everybody except Leanne, leave. I have personal maters to discuss with her."

As her husband and daughter left the room, Leanne moved closer to her father's bed. He smiled weakly at her.

"My baby daughter. You grew up so fast..." He paused as he coughed yet again, this time, coughing out blood.

"Fathe-"

"Leanne, I will die today. There is no changing that. I will be reunited with my friends and family on the other side, and you will live a happy life, here, with you family, enjoying the peace that we wrought with out own blood, sweat, and tears."

Tears dripped down the daughter's face; she was going to lose her father that night, whether she liked it or not. As her head hung down, a hand brought it up.

"The hidden, locked cabinet in the far corner of my room. Do you remember it?" he questioned. She nodded slowly, blinking the tears out of her eyes. Hands shaking, the man took a small key out of his front right pocket; he never left it behind. "Take this, and unlock the cabinet." He sighed. "I remember the days that you begged to see what was behind it, only for me to refuse you, pick you up, and hum you to sleep while I carried you back to your room." A single tear was shed. "Those were the good old days." She looked at him curiously; just what had he been hiding behind that lock of his? "The contents are now yours to keep. Take good care of them." She took the key, slowly, and looked it over; it was completely black, and had a unneeded handle-guard; it looked remarkably like a skeleton key. She slid it into her left pocket and patted it. As the last vestiges of life left him, he let out one final sentence.

"I am proud to have called you my daughter."

* * *

On the other side, a blue haired woman stood over him. She offered her hand, and he took it, her pulling him up as he surveyed the area. Suddenly, a group of people swarmed him with laughs, cheers, and hugs as he heard the words,

"Good to see you again."

* * *

Leanne ran at a breakneck pace, with her husband, Ray, and her daughter, Nee, in tow. She stopped outside of her late father's office...and opened the door. Everything was in it's place from when he had last left it; from the books ranging from tactical treaties to romance novels on the bookshelf, sorted by type, and then, the alphabet; the darned alarm clock that he had never refused to fix, all the way to the small, elaborate wooden cabinet in the corner of the room. She pushed the key into the lock of the first drawer, and opened it. There was one book waiting for her. Flipping it open, she caught the single sheet of paper that fell out before it landed on the floor. As her family gathered around to see what had fallen out, she began to read the paper. It was a letter addressed to her, and it read,

_Dear Leanne,_

_ If you are reading this, it means that I have passed on and given you the rights to this particularly thick and crammed journal. It details my journeys before you were born; the war I am glad that you did not have to take a part of. Hopefully, with the peace my friends and I have made, you will never have to go through such a thing. You once asked me why you couldn't see what was inside this container. My answer was simple; it was because you were not ready. You were not ready to read what I learned on my journey, and even though it may read like a fairy tale at first, it most certainly is not. Believe me, for this story is sadder than it seems. Now, you are a grown woman, and you are strong enough to read this, to understand what I went through. I am proud to have such a strong legacy._

_ Your Father, Mark_

As she started crying again, Ray came up to her and wiped the tears off of her face. Her daughter Nee came up to her and hugged her. The family stayed like that for a while before they went to their separate bedrooms; Ray and Leanne to the master bedroom, while Nee to the guest one.

* * *

The next morning after she had breakfast and Ray had left for work, Leanne walked back to her dad's office and picked up the journal. The brown, leather cover was worn, and the journal itself was bound together meticulously by hand. As she opened it to the first page, she could almost smell how old it was; even then, the stained page added to it. As she walked back to her bed, she began reading.

"_It started a long time ago, when I was only eight years old..."_


End file.
